


Life In Death

by my_inked_asterism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, References to Depression, Romance, i swear it's way softer than what you think, well i think it's mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/pseuds/my_inked_asterism
Summary: " She moves up her hands to stroke his cheeks softly with her thumbs, but his expression remains impassible for a while. Her eyes open wide in worry, “Ron-?”But the question dies immediately in her throat.To both their horror, he suddenly bursts into tears and falls to his knees in front of her. His arms are still around her but now he’s using them to support himself, as he leans his forehead on her belly to hide his face from her.“Hermione it’s my fault.” He lets out desperately between sobs, so desperate she feels her heart lurch at his broken voice.“Hermione, I killed a man.” "





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [Romione Secret Santa](http://romionesecretsanta.tumblr.com/) event as a gift for [Elise/ @theperksofshippingromione](http://theperksofshippingromione.tumblr.com/), for whom i was absolutely _thrilled_ to be her secret santa.
> 
> I promise you guys a happy ending, worry not! We always got to see the best of Ron in my opinion (c'mon even when he's sassy and rude he's such a pure small bean at the end of the day) and i've always wanted to explore a darker side of him, seeing Hermione and Harry's reaction and how powerful love can be over death. 
> 
> I really hope you'll enjoy it, i put my heart and soul in this story :')
> 
> (Title is from 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Coleridge)

_‘Life-In-Death’_

A state of death that exists in life.

The worst nightmare of humanity.

A punishment for the sins of men.

The awareness of our being alive owing to the fact that we are embedded in the landscape of death.

* * *

 

The clock just struck 2 o’clock and Hermione allows herself to worry.

 

Coming home late it’s a daily routine for an auror, she acknowledged that by now, but anyways it was so rare that Ron exceeded 1 am, and even in those cases he always made sure she knew that.

This time instead, she had received no text -Ron had recently become familiar with mobile phones - and not even a shadow of the bluish terrier had barged into the bedroom, talking with Ron’s voice as he uses to do, coming out softer than the usual when speaking through the patronus in order to mask the hurry of the fight and to not make her freak out. Indeed, she finds herself relaxing even by just listening to the sound of his voice, knowing he is safe and has everything in control even though Hermione is aware of what risks the auror job implicates.

And especially during these times, she can't fall asleep until Ron’s at home.

Hermione always thought, yet naively, that once Voldemort had been out of the picture, everything would’ve been different, that people would've calmed down a little bit and criminality would’ve ceased at least partly. Of course the perspective did change but she never considered all the devotees of the Dark Lord, and not just the Death Eaters, who had been sent to Azkaban already, but all the other ones, dark wizards and witches hidden around the country - and abroad sometimes - who still wanted to bring  
Voldemort’s original ideology of an all-pure-race world of wizards back to life.

So basically Ron’s auror squad had been looking for these dark conservative groups of mages for months by now, searching all around the most popular areas known in the past for having secretly hosted the Death Eaters or Voldemort himself. Some of them had been found and put behind bars, the worst ones received the Dementor’s kiss, but a surprisingly large number of them was still in circulation and the mission had eventually turned longer than what they all had expected.

Hermione resists at the temptation of sending a patronus herself or calling Ginny who is probably already asleep and instead climbs off the bed and goes downstairs in the kitchen to get a soothing infusion, more to keep her busy than to calm her down.

She had just got down the last step when she hears the unique squeak of the entrance door echoing in the hallway as it slowly swings open. Her heart starts pounding frantically in her chest as she hears Ron’s steps getting in and stop in the evening room. She reaches for him immediately, exhausted at the only idea of waiting a second more.

The only glimpse of his tall, muscular figure is enough to make her chest rise considerably as she inhales one sharp breath of relief and, without hesitating, she runs towards him in a heartbeat and throws her arms around his neck, her nose finds immediately the small spot on the crook of his neck where she knows he’s used to put his favorite cologne on it, the one she gave him for their first anniversary, and breathes in his scent before resting her head on his shoulder.

Ron’s hands holds her automatically, as if it was a reflex developed after so much time he had spent with his arms touching her, folding her, giving her peace and that, with time, turned to become her home eventually.

Her hands find their way under his coat and soon they reach his skin, first on his neck, then sliding down on the back under the hem of his collar, craving the warmth of his body. His warm and _alive_ body. He’s silent, standing still as she traces his shoulders with trembling fingertips, his chest moving fast against hers and his panting moves her locks away from her neck for how heavily he’s breathing. He’s not hugging her as tight as he uses to, his arms seem weak around her waist and the wide palms that always get to support the small of her back are now clenched into cold fists.

 

His hands are cold. They’re _never_ cold.

 

That’s when she feels them actually for the first time that night, shaking a little against her skin, rigid as if paralyzed by a full body-bind curse.

Hermione pulls apart to check him out and looks at him directly, her warm brown eyes meeting his, blue and now with a strange shade of red surrounding them. He looks like if he was on the edge of a panic attack.

Her heart goes cold.

She moves up her hands to stroke his cheeks softly with her thumbs, but his expression remains impassible for a while. Her eyes open wide in worry, “Ron-?”

But the question dies immediately in her throat.

To both their horror, he suddenly bursts into tears and falls to his knees in front of her. His arms are still around her but now he's using them to support himself, as he leans his forehead on her belly to hide his face from her.

“Hermione it’s my fault.” He lets out desperately between sobs, so desperate she feels her heart lurch at his broken voice.

 

“Hermione, I killed a man.”

* * *

 

He passes out, in spasms of crying, slowly but never completely relaxing under her gentle touch.

 

Hermione had slipped her fingers in his hair until he had stopped shaking and finally fell asleep in her arms, her shirt showing some darker wet spots where Ron had wept for hours, right on the left side above her heart. She had hoped his sobs were loud enough to cover the hammering sound of her beating, the only one thing she isn't able to control, especially when around him.

His breathing eventually becomes more regular, the frown slowly fading from his forehead as he sleeps on her chest. Her hand slides down on his wet cheek to caress him and conciliates his dreams. Hugging him tightly, her grip loosen when her eyes shut close too and her head falls on Ron’s, cradled by his small breathes and his light mint scent.

They stay like this for less than a hour before Ron wakes up screaming.

The nightmares keep going on all night long. No matter how many times he falls asleep with the sound of her heartbeat or the lullaby in her tone as she tenderly speaks to him in order to give him peace, how many positions shifts to be comfortable or how much he tries to anchor himself both physically and mentally to Hermione to calm his soul.

No matter how strong his attempts are, how high his walls are built to ignore it. It's like if his heart knew, in that moment, he just doesn't deserve the quite.

So when Hermione wakes up in the middle of the night freezing alone on the now cold mattress, feeling the lack of warmth she's got so used to have around her constantly, she climbs off the bed and goes downstairs, a part of her slightly afraid of what she might find there.

Ron is leaned onto the bar table of their kitchen, sipping from a tiny glass a brownish fluid she recognizes as firewhisky. Hermione approaches him quietly, as if she was scared of interrupting his thoughts, and sits next to him.

He doesn't look at her, not even a glimpse. His head remains low on the glass that he is handing as to support himself with that only small object, which seems to disappear into his hand.

He stays silent awhile, minutes that seem an eternity to Hermione. She is afraid of talking to him, of touching him, afraid of somehow wrecking that lonely small piece of good sense that - she hopes - is left in him.

Before she can restrain herself, her hand finds his knee and starts stroking it softly. That one contact makes Ron jump slightly, as if they hadn't just spent the night tangled in their bed, chest to chest for hours. Something seems changed from those sleepy hours together, and she suddenly fears to know what that is.

“I’m a monster.” His blurts out in a whisper. His hoarse voice makes her shiver for how cold it sounds from his mouth.

“Ron, you’re the gooddest man I know.” She pleads, whispering as well.

“I’ve killed a man.”

“To save a child!” She yells desperately, her hand slides up to slowly disentangle his grip from the glass, entwining his fingers with hers. “A child who would've probably been kidnapped or worse if you hadn't reacted!”

“I could've used a stunner, a blasting curse, an _Oppugno_ … but i’ve decided to kill him off instead.” He says flatly, almost detached from his speech. Or maybe resigned. But then his voice starts trembling as he continues “I’ve never killed a man, Hermione. Not a criminal, nor even a fucking Death Eater. We send them to Azkaban, that’s what we do, we don't-” his eyes becomes teary again, “ we don't use Unforgivable curses.”

“You were angry,” she can barely hear her own voice, “it was a child...”

“People don't kill off other people when they're angry!” He cries out, holding his head up for the first time and staring into her eyes with a mad look, “you don't kill people when you’re angry, _Harry_ doesn't kill people wh-”

“Ron you are _not_ Harry, okay?!” She shouts, “that kid was in danger and you reacted instinctively. You _saved_ him. In a way or another ...maybe it was the only way to act in that moment, maybe Harry would've done the same in your place, we can't know.”

But she is trying to convince herself more than Ron, her imploring tone hiding a spark of hope. For what, she's still not sure.

From the way his expression suddenly hardens by looking at her, Ron seems to get that second of insecurity of her too, and looks down hopelessly, looking even more tired than when he got home hours ago.

The morning sunlight filtering from the curtains suddenly catches her eye. She glances at the window and glimpses the soft shade of orange of the dawn rising from the hills next to them and the light slowly floods into the room, brightening the space with colorful majesty.

It would’ve been a spectacular scenario if they both weren't feeling like grey inside.

Her eyes lands on Ron again, tracing his figure in its entirety. His shoulders are curved, muscles rigid and so much immobile if it wasn't for his breathing he could've looked like a walking dead. His big, sweet eyes, the eyes she fell in love with at the very first sight of them, are hidden partly by his hair and partly by the bags under them, covering his freckles and conferring his face an unusual paler tone.

With two strides Hermione approaches him and places her hand on his cheek, letting it slide it on the jaw and forcing him to hold his face up to hers with her thumb. His eyes are wet already, red and panicking which makes a stark and creepy contrast with the hollow of his expression.

Her heart cracks at that sight.

“Stay at home today.” She whispers with shaky voice.

He leans a little onto her touch before answering, “No. No, I think i’m going.”

“Ron--”

“I _need_ to go.”

He needs to fix it. Wants to do something good to silence his hellish conscience from judging him. He needs to keep himself busy to tune out the screams of a man imploring him to stop.

She won't let him do this alone.

“I’m coming with you then.” She states.

“Hermione you have work to do at the Minister.” He sighs, looking away from her.

“I can do it tomorrow. Today i’m going with you, i’ll be part of your squad.”

“We just have to patrol some areas today, it's not a big deal.”

“Well, I can help.”

“We don't need extra help!”

“I’ll watch your back!”

“HERMIONE I’M FINE.”

“NO, YOU’RE NOT!” She cries out. Her chest rising heavily following her panting.

Ron stares at her, speechless, eyes wide in shock and filled with new tears again just to confirm her statement.

“Just--,” she swallows her own tears back and licks her lips, “i want to stay with you today.”

“You want to check me out.”

“I want to make sure you’re okay, Ron.”

A pause full of tension again.

When he speaks again his voice his steady, his tone demanding, “You have to stick with me and do what I tell you to.”

“Sure.” A feeling of relief crossing her chest.

She stretches one hand to him tentatively and he takes it without hesitation.

They intertwine their fingers before disapparating together.

 

* * *

 

When they get to the rally point - for that week the team of Aurors had picked a rural district on the outskirts of London surrounded by abandoned factories and brown fields - the whole squad is there already, waiting for them.

They knew of their late though, most of them anyway, and for those who didn’t it wasn’t hard to guess the reason of it.

Harry is the first one to approach them, turning his back to the small crowd of wizards behind him and heading towards the couple. “Hi guys.”

His tone is soft, as if he was scared of breaking that invisible string that still keep them on their feet and prevent them from crumbling down.

“Hi.” Hermione greets him and places a small peck on his cheek as always. Ron on his part, says nothing and limits himself to nod at his friend, giving him a quick squeeze on the shoulder without meeting his eyes, ever. Ron leaves and joins the others silently, leaving the two of them alone.

Harry turns his face to glimpse Ron’s figure walking away. When the ginger boy has taken a considerable distance from them, Harry suddenly faces her again and gets closer, grabbing her wrist gently to pull her towards him and whispers in her ear, “How bad is he?”

Hermione sighs, knowing she’s just about to admit it for the first time to herself too, “He seems gone sometimes.”

 Looking down, she joins Ron who is now sitting on some dirty steps, hidden in the dark while the squad plans the next move right beside him, and silently wraps her arm around his. She can feel Harry’s stare on them, on _him_ , and she tries her best to ignore it, suddenly finding the gravel more interesting,

Harry only wants to save everyone, always, is all. Not a big deal.

This time though, Hermione doesn’t feel like he can do something about it, and the worst part is that she’s starting thinking she wouldn’t be able herself either because it’s been long time since they both learnt Ronald Weasley works better when he’s the one saving himself, when he gets to fix himself alone and finds the best way to keep going despite all the wrong he did before. He’s his own anchor and that’s what she loves the most about him.

But under those rough, strong and solid layers there’s softness, and gentle touches and sweet words whispered against her skin when her body aches for how much it craves his warmth. Ron Weasley is the last slice of cake left on the table that he selflessly gives to you despite the hugeness of his gluttony; he’s the wide smile on her neck when he places wet kisses on it and tickles her at the same time because he’s insatiable of her laughter. He’s goodness, and hidden grace and everything between.

How can this turn out to be a weak point on people?

After the whole squad agreed on the members’ divisions and their corresponding areas of watch they separate and Hermione, Ron and Harry - he had predictably refused to let them go without him - disapparate together and hit the road a moment later in the Seven Sisters’ park.

“So…” She starts, “How do we set up the guard?”

“The area is too big to split, we better stay together.”

Though is the truth, she knows he just doesn’t want to let Ron out of his sight.

“Okay then,” she agrees, glimpsing Ron’s figure motionless next to her, “Let’s go this way.”

They settle outside a wizard tavern, hidden in a corner right at the bottom of the park where all sort of red and white neon lights filter from the small glass-less windows of the building and a big sign reads “The Eighth Sister”. She lets out a skeptical laugh. _Very funny_.

“Why is this quarter in the checklist? There’s nothing magical here except for this attempt of wizard-y nightclub.” Ron blurts out.

In that same moment the bad-resin-washed black door of the club opens abruptly and a wobbly, stinky troll gets out it. He almost stumbles on the only two steps on the porch.  
They react in an instant. Harry takes out the cloak of the Invisibility and throws it on them in one quick move as he had done so many times in the past and takes a step back to hide behind a blackened column, clinging to each other to try to mask their feet too. The fangs of the creature are filthy and encrusted with food, covered in yellowish spit that makes Hermione’s stomach lurch and she struggles visibly with the sudden urge of throwing up at that sight.

 She feels Ron’s hand sliding around her waist, pulling her closer to his side to steady her and that only contact helps her mind to stay focus on their mission.  
They catch the sight of the thick silhouette of the creature move forward unsteady, getting closer to the trio and almost missing them for a few inches, which causes Hermione to hold her breath for what it seems a while to her. She almost suffocates for the long apnea but the monster is distant enough when she gasps for air and breathes again, trying to silence her panting.

Next to her, Hermione feels Harry’s shoulder curve a little bit as he takes a deep breath of relief too. Ron instead maintains the same rigid posture of before, the only hint of his own dread shown in the tight embrace in which he had kept holding her for the past minutes and had become just stronger and shakier around her body as he had glimpsed the troll advancing towards them. Despite the Invisibility Cloak, Ron had been standing all the time with one arm on her waist, with his fingers sunk in her flesh for how much he tugged her to him, and the other one hung in front of her as to shield her from anything and ready to react.

There’s a brief moment when the troll stops walking abruptly near them and stays immobile for not more than a couple of minutes. Two minutes of fear and cold sweat, the air paralyzed around them with the time and their heartbeats. The wailing of the wind blaring into darkness in hope to cover their heavy breaths.

Two minutes in which the back of the monster twitches slightly and his spine straightens up, and if Hermione hadn’t seen him before stumbling out of the club she would’ve swore he is aware even of the tiniest insect flying around him.

But then, his shoulders retake their crooked inclination and starts limping forward again with a zig-zag gait, so when Hermione hears the heavy steps of the monster fading away followed by drunk hiccups she naively thinks that moment of hesitation have been just a sick joke of her tired mind.

* * *

 

It wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 Through the darkness, with only the light bulb of the tavern’s porch, they hadn’t noticed the inked skull and snake on the troll’s inner arm.

Only when Harry winced in pain moving one hand up to his forehead after the creature had lurked out behind a corner, they put all together.

A pit of dread bloom in her hollow stomach as she realizes what that sign means.

A moment they are invisible and safe under Harry’s cloak, the moment later they find themselves surrounded by Death Eaters (or whatever they can be called now). Having lost the gift of flying granted by the Dark Lord itself, they had come over by broomstick as ordinary wizards, which somehow made them less terrifying.

The chaos of red and green lights replaces the deadly silence of the night in an instant.

Simultaneously, both the formations move backwards to the park which in a no time is already broken and sparkling for the stunner cast that opened it.

The dark wizards are four but Hermione doesn’t recognize the face of any of them and neither the boys, despite their experience with the Death Eaters. They are probably just a side-group of newcomers that had maybe fancied too much about the rising of Voldemort without never actually collaborate with him, not for a long period anyway.

So, either they had the dark mark when they were only teenagers or they found out a way to get it on their own.

Hermione doesn’t know which one is the creepiest.

She thinks about the brunette, pale boy in front of her and she feels so much pity for him as she casts a body-mind curse aiming right at his chest and turning him to stone in a heartbeat. She has just the time to catch her breath when she feels a rough hand punching her side and causes her to tumble down on the ground, the grass softening her her fall but she feels already a bruise forming on her upper ribcage and the aching pain right below her heart makes her eyes fill with tears despite her attempts to hold them back.

With bleary eyes, she desperately tries to stand up but she sees sparkle as she does so and automatically presses one hand under her breast, she pursues her lips at the acute ache to avoid screaming. Hermione glances at her palm and sees no blood. Good, no hemorrhage. Judging by the burning stabs when she tries to rest on the side, she thinks she might have broken a rib, two probably.

She is so absorbed in making her own medical chart that she barely notices the other boy - the one that she identified as the head of the four, both for his attitude and his age - getting closer to her with two long strides, soon towering over her as a hungry predator.

Her heart goes cold. The breathing increasing, becoming faster and heavier for every step the death takes. She looks around desperately, eyes darting from the sneer of the young man to the wide space of the park, looking for Ron or Harry even knowing they could’ve been in her same position at the moment.

Indeed, she glimpses a red bright light coming out from behind a tree, striking one of the man on the stomach and the moment after Harry appears from the corner, wand pointed against the other wizard and casting every sort of spell among the stunners and the deadly curses. Unfortunately, the one who had been stunned just a second ago comes back in defense of his ally and she sees Harry visibly struggling with standing up two men alone.

Wait.

 

Alone?

 

She’s panicking. She doesn’t know what to do, she can’t scream because of the pain in her lungs, she can’t run because she’s pretty sure she would faint if she tried, and she can’t call out Ron’s name because, apparently, there’s no Ron to call.

And the wizard in front of her, an asian dark-haired man, is now so close to her he can almost brush his feet with hers, and his smile is so horrible and eager of revenge she can feel the pounding of her heart blaring in her ears and hammering in the throat. Tears fall uncontrollably down her cheeks, she tastes the salt of the dread in the mouth, soaking her chapped lips.

“Game over, beautiful.”

Without a shred of hesitation, he points his wand at her, staring into her eyes with his black, abyssal ones as he starts slowly and triumphant the spell, “Avada Ked-”

 

The sentence dies in his throat with a loud gasp.

 

His knees hit the ground and he falls with all his weight next to Hermione, who rapidly crawls back to make him room, confused and astonished at the same time.

Behind him, the tall and majestic figure of Ron towers over them, taking two long steps towards the dark wizard, hand tight around the wand as he points it to the young man with so much determination she can’t blame him for starting whimpering at the sight of Ron’s threatening expression.

Hermione stops herself from backening to analyse her boyfriend more accurately. His eyes are wide open, the gaze holding such madness he looks like a psycho, the deranged flashes in his pupils are flames of hatred and revenge directed to his prey, his jaw clenched, rigid as the rest of his body as if he was about to jump at the man at every moment and start punching him but instead decided to stay still and try to kill him with the only will of his thought.

He looks lethal and angry and out of control. And frightening.

She’s never seen him like this.

With the wand hung in front of him, his knuckles turn white around it as he whispers the spell. She hopes she heard wrong, but she knows she didn’t.

_"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"_

 

The man immediately writhes on the grass, crying and screaming in a desperate attempt to lets out a pleading of help or to beg Ron to stop but his lungs are suffering with the rest of his body, the lack of air almost equals the pain and every word he tries to breath out just turn into a miserable wail. His bones ache inside his flesh, eyes falling out as they slowly get flooded with reddish lines and filled with tears. He’s already wet face is deformed by the pain and the elegant features are now a storm of aching cells.

She can’t stand that sight, because he’s suffering so so much. That kind of magical suffering that makes you wanting to invoke the death rather than stay there a second more.

Hermione knows way too well that kind of pain. She experienced it on her skin more than two years ago.

 

_"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"_

 

“R-Ron,” she mutters shaky, but it comes out like a whisper and he doesn’t hear her. “Ron, please stop!” Hermione cries louder.

He doesn’t seem to hear neither this time, looking like a robot with bleary and empty eyes focused on torturing the enemy.

Her sight becomes blurry as tears goes down her face and fill her eyes, she stands on the ground sobbing, looking at the man she loves turning slowly into a monster and admitting it to herself for the first time since the time he had ever thought about it.

Then, with one last muffled scream, pupils dilated and suddenly glassy, the wizard stops crying and lies emotionless on the moist grass of the park. All the pain and fear held ‘till this moment fade away in an eternal second. The time of a brief spasm before life abandons his body, leaving just a now inert corp and the useless soul of it which keeps the scattered pieces of Ron’s company.

The ginger man blinks for the first time since he had handed the wand. Awareness strikes him like a thunder as he opens his mouth and closes it immediately right after, speechless. He realizes his action just now, his chest rising up and down frenetically as he starts panicking and randomly looking around at the park as if in search for answers that he already has.

Overwhelmed, he falls on his knees and stares at her with wide, scared eyes, perfectly reflecting her own expression as she’s still pressing her hand on her aching side while the other one had reached her mouth. His glance stuck on her warming, now terrified one, maybe trying to find comfort, as he always does when in trouble.

When he doesn’t, her panting increases but he manages to speak, “Hermione,” his voice is trembling, and her heart breaks at the sound of her name with that tone.

 

“Hermione, what i’ve become?”

* * *

 

He’s been lying in the couch for three days.

  
Hermione didn’t dare to talk to him initially, the tension hanging as a massive burden over them, creating an invisible distance that she never felt before with him, nor even when they have been physically distant for real.

Even when she had decided to try to break the silence with minimal questions, he just limited himself to make some sounds which she couldn’t tell if either they were of approval or just indifference. She barely knew if he was actually listening to her.

 

He wouldn’t eat or talk or walk, if not necessary. Despite he keeps lying on their deformed couch for days she’s pretty sure he doesn’t sleep either. Last time he tried, nightmares overwhelmed him in the sleep as if they were lying in wait, ready for the surprise attack, lurking in the most remote and dark corner of his mind just to come out when he’s off-guard.  
That’s why staying awake became easier.

A bluish deer came to visit him sometimes, talking to him hesitantly through the soft voice of Harry with the excuse of updating him with their constant watches. Ron used to turn his back on it and the deer disappeared the moment after, any trace of happy thought vanished with Ron’s groan.

On the fourth day, she climbs down the stairs to the kitchen as always and, as she expects to, he is still lying on the freakin’ couch which probably became radioactive by now, lying motionless, breathing - because that is actually the only action he does - and she doesn't feel like complaining.

For the first time that day tough, he actually answers her back, eyes still sad but with a redemptive expression on his face as if he was saying her sorry every time he glances at her. _Sorry for what?_ she found herself thinking exasperated, _You saved me, you idiot_. But the languid blue of his iris still holds sorrow and Hermione tries to remember the last time she hadn’t see them wet, constantly covered with that teary mist through which he seems damned to see the world from now on.

She doesn't want the mist. She wants her cloudless sky back.

* * *

 

“Ron come here, it’s important.”

“Tell Harry i’m coming back to work next monday.” Ron groans from the kitchen, not even deeming her worthy of a look and dismissing the newcomer patronus with a nervous movement of his hand.

Her left eye starts twitching, “It’s not Harry. It’s Ginny.”

Ron turns around so fast she hears a crack of his upper spine even from her position, and he immediately moves one hand to his now aching neck but still without looking away from the patronus in their hall, realizing just now that indeed it is no deer but a horse.

“Can you come here please? It’s about Hogwarts.” Hermione says more softly this time.

“What about Hogwarts?” He sighs, as is the only mention of the name made him tired.

She is about to speak just as much sharply when Ginny’s voice interjects her, “Professor Mcgonagall invited us to take a lecture of Defense Against the Dark Arts this evening since the current professor is sick and no one can replace because too busy with the preparations for Christmas.”

“It’s in two week!” Ron huffs.

“It’s Hogwarts!”

Well, good point.

Hermione interrupts their banter and faces Ron, “Ron c’mon it’s just for _one_ day.”

“I don’t know.” He truly looks uncertain, afraid of his only presence could hurt someone. She can see the horror of a week ago slowly come to surface in his pupils.

 She intervenes before he had time to panic, “I’ll be right beside you,” she whispers to him allowing herself to take his hand and touch him for the first time in days as the sparkly horse suddenly fades away and leaves them back alone.

“Hermione-”

“I’ll speak okay? You won't even have to say a word. You just need to stay there, watch me talk about academic and smart things as you always did since you met me and help me with some passive demonstration. You won't cast a spell, I promise Ron. _Please_.” She is rambling now but her tone of pleading seems to have soften his eyes a little bit.

“I love when you talk science to me.” He shrugs, letting the positive answer be processed by both of them.

She gets closer and places a hand on his heart, than leans onto him as he supports himself on the edge of the couch’s backseat and kisses him softly. He returns almost immediately, having missed the warmth of her lips so much and Hermione slightly jumps at the contact of his cold ones. The kiss lingers a little more before they pull apart simultaneously just to stare in each other's eyes for what he seem an eternity.

“Thank you.” He breathes. She doesn't know for what exactly. She just knows, for a brief and very quick moment she made him smile.

And that's all she needs to take his hand back in hers and pull him upstairs to get ready to come back to their old school.

* * *

 

“Anyone knows what a boggart is?” Hermione asks to the crowd of teenagers.

 

A young girl with smart, green eyes and blondish hair which matches with the yellow and black tie, immediately raises her hand with so much impetus she is almost jumping in her chair. The others look at her indifferently as if it they had seen her doing so a billion of times, which probably is.

Ron grins slightly. It must be a tradition of the school to hold a pretty genius per year.

“Yes?”

“A boggart is an amortal shape-shifting creature that assume the form of whatever most frightens the person who encounters it." She says all so fast she needs to take a deep breath after the statement.

“Very good miss…?”

“Milton.” The girl answers beaming.

Hermione smiles at her before continuing the lesson, “As miss Milton said a Boggart is a _shape-shifter_. Depending on the fear of the person in front of it, it changes and for this no one knows what a boggart looks like when it is alone, as it instantly changes into one's worst fears when one first sees it.” She explains, “When facing a boggart, it is best to have someone else along, to try to confuse it, since facing more than one person at once would confuse it as to what form it must take, usually a mixed-up amalgam of the victims' fears. Meaning you have to disorient it by make it focusing on more that one person at time. Everything’s clear for now?”

The students nod in unison, all eyes staring at Hermione with a sort of admiration mixed with interest. The same sensation he still didn’t get used of when she talked to him about things he barely knows the name of and always finds himself lost in her words, lost in the way her voice seems so soft and yet professional but passionate as well, how her lips curve and pursue every so often when she pauses to think, or how her eyes sparkle and hold so much love and enthusiasm for anything worthy of her knowledge he sometimes thinks he might be jealous of her books. She could make you fascinate about something you completely ignored the existence before by just talking about it for a few minutes.

She’s the most inspiring person he ever knew, and that’s just one of the thousands of reasons for he loves her so unconditionally.

“Okay so, the spell to fight a boggart is _Riddikulus_. Repeat it after me, ‘ _Riddikulus_ ’.”

The class repeats the spell out loud as they’ve been told.

“Good. The charm requires a strong mind and good concentration. The only wand movement alone will not affect a boggart. The intention is to force the boggart to assume a less-threatening and hopefully comical form but you don’t have to get lost in it, you need to stay concentrate. It’s has to be comedic, odd, but not too funny or you’ll risk to laugh and break the charm.”

“We’ll let you see a little demonstration, to start. Then you’ll practice it on your own so watch carefully.” Then she turns to face him, “Ron?”

He’s been caught unprepared. Ron didn’t expect to _actively_ be part of the demonstration. He widens his eyes to her to let her know his surprise, turning his back on the crowd of wizards so that they wouldn’t see his expression. Hermione’s look is encouraging though and she nods her head slightly, pointing the box at the center of the class.

He never had problems with boggarts. For how much a giant Aragog could appear like a vicious nightmare to him (he will never get over arachnophobia), it’s been awhile since he learnt to deal with spiders.

Last time he had an encounter with a boggart was about a year ago, during one of his first missions as official auror. The endless line of small, hairy, black spiders gave him nausea even though he was aware of the tricky creature behind it. He remembers the dread flooding all over his body, the feeling of being trapped as if he experienced claustrophobia for the first time overwhelmed him. When Ron found the courage to cast the spell, keeping his voice as still as he managed to, he thought about them playing ‘round and round’ as puppets and dancing the salsa in couples. They were still creepy, but no so much scary anymore.

Now it’s different. He hadn’t used a charm since… well, since he saved Hermione.

He hadn’t touched his wand since that day. The memory of his action seems like impressed in the core beneath the willow.

(Which somehow it is.)

 But without realizing his feet move forward as Hermione tugs him towards her and places him in front of the box, resolved. She gives a quick squeeze of reassurance on his shoulder and for a moment it seems like she had planned all of this for months, like she wants to reinstate him in their ordinary world of wizards and witches before he could turn into a relic of magic.

So when Hermione slowly opens the trunk with a silent charm Ron thinks to be ready for whatever monstrous creature would show up.

 

He isn’t.

 

He sees himself walk forward and get closer to him. It stops right in front of him, standing there without doing anything but stare at him with such hatred and disappointment he suddenly feels a discharge of shame irradiate on every cell of his body and looking at his figure’s never been so hard.

 _Disgust_ , he thinks. That’s how the boggart-Ron is looking at him.

Ron is petrified. He can’t look at his own reflection for how horrible it is. A small, tiny piece of his soul still naively hopes that’s not his real aspect, that he is not actually that pale, that maybe in real life his eyes are brighter than the hazy ones glancing at him. He also catches the shaky hands on both of the boggart-Ron’s sides and immediately looks down to check his own, which indeed, are trembling inside his pockets. Dread slowly forms in his hollow stomach for how accurate that image of him is.

Insomniac, maniac, crazy, terrifying, ghostly, suffering. They’re all words that as a storm rapidly bloom in his mind.

 _Suicidal_. That’s his final verdict.

He’s afraid of himself for he could be his self destruction. He’s afraid of himself for he fears others’ destruction because of him. He messed up, he messed everything up, he killed, and made suffer, and scared and messed up, he messed up, _he messed up_ -

 

Hermione is soon in front of him, shielding his body with one arm while the other holds unsteady her wand.

He watches the boggart-Ron collapse at the ground, whiter and immobile and suddenly the sight of his own lifeless body makes him feel sick. Hermione, now pressed gently against his chest as she takes some steps backwards, inhales sharply, gasping for air to avoid the urge of crying and tries to concentrate. He hears her breathe a soft “ _Riddikulus_ ” and from her tone, he can tell she’s already in tears.

The dead body reacts in an instant. It starts rolling on the floor like a dreidel, farting every so often for every abrupt curve he takes with his spine, which makes him an odd and hilarious show, even though humiliating maybe in part.

The tension is soon replaced by the fun of the comedical scene and the group of young wizards immediately burst out laughing at the stinky spinning top.

 

It is funny, and comfortable, and peaceful almost, seeing all those growing kids smiling at the couple as they mistake their tears for ones of amusement.

* * *

 

 The darkness of the place hits her as she walks in the bedroom, _their_ bedroom, despite it’s been more hers lately.

It takes a couple of minutes to adjust her sight with the dark, so different from the bright light of the sunny day outside. Hermione wishes the shade of the room was the only thing in contrast with the sunlight.

She sits down next to him, her forearm carefully brushing with his bare elbow as the bed inclines slightly at her small weight. Tension slowly builds up like a wall to divide them again for the umpteenth time. She is so tired. So tired of stay away from him.

“I didn’t know your boggart’s shape had changed.”

“Me neither.” He replies simply.

Another pause.

Then she huffs exasperated, “Ron, we need to talk about it.”

“About what?” He feigns, but still doesn’t look at her.

Hermione turns her torso completely and faces him. She moves one hand and suddenly cups his soft cheek to force him watching her because god, it’s been so long since last he actually watched her. And as doing so, he seems even more in suffer for the only fact of having to hold her stare. Her eyes, warm and sparkly, with those golden thin lines crossing her iris every time a ray of sunshine would strike her face, those eyes which reflect her own soul, so pure. Unlike his.

She reads all of it in his aching look, “You are good.” She whispers.

“I messed up. Whatever I am, it’s not goodness.”

“You saved us. You saved _me_.”

“I killed two people, Hermione. Two freakin’ people in less than a month!”

“You had no-”

“See the problem is, I did! I did have a choice. I could’ve trapped the man and saved the child. I could have stopped torturing the Death Eater before ending him and saved you as well.” He is now shouting and he barely seems to feel her moving thumb on his beating pulse but she doesn't dare taking it away, afraid of breaking that one contact that makes her feel him still alive.

“You saved me.” She repeats, more firmly this time. “I would've done the same for you.”

He lets out a painful laugh,”you would’ve found a way to make us both survive.”

“You still believe that even after seeing my boggart?”

He pauses and _finally_ looks at her in the eyes.

“Ron, I love you. I’ve always loved you, even before knowing what love means.” As she says those words she finds herself thinking about how true that is. It’s always been Ron. Always, always, always him.

“I don't care what you've done because I know your heart was in the right place. I know you, and I know _it_.” She points her index on his left spot of his chest. “You're good at heart Ron Weasley. If you weren't, you wouldn't be like this for days. And I am _alive_ , damn it!” She exclaims, eager to let him understand. He has to get how grateful and beloved she feels. “Don't you want me to be alive?”

Half second pass before he replies as he lets out a sudden desperate sound, “Of course I want you to be alive. I want you always alive. And I would do anything in my power to keep you like this.”

Her eyes becomes teary at once. Without hesitating she leans onto him and kisses him, lips brushing lightly his mouth before colliding for good. His hands slides up to her face and she uses his shirt to support herself and tagging him to her at the same time as they deepen the kiss more.

She hadn't kissed a lot of guys in her life. Save for Krum and one random guy during summer holidays, Ron is basically her first, although he really isn't.

But there is something different in kissing Ron, something she can't truly explain considering her practically inexistent romantical experience.

 Every time their lips meet, it is never a stolen kiss. He always seems to care so much and put such passion in every kiss he gives her, even the most chaste one. Every kiss, every peck, and time they make love … every single time he touches her it’s like he sets fire on her with his fingertips.

Even now, when he has both his hands on her cheeks and he's gently tilting her head to have better access on her mouth, she feels the dread on her stomach that she had so gotten used of, suddenly replaced by a colored and burning flame that can't help but growing as his hands slip down her sides.

It’s a flame that took time to build, that’s true. But it’s always been there, since the first day. Always.

Her hands glide down from his chest to the hem of his flannel, quickly taking it off and pushes him backwards causing him to fall back on the mattress with a soft huff. Her mouth starts focus on the new exposed skin and places wet kisses all along his neck, his collarbone down to his chest, creating a burning path while she imaginary connects his freckles with her lips.

Hermione’s shirt soon falls on the floor with his clothes. His hands immediately rest on her bare waist to support her as she crawls into his lap and unbuckles her bra at the same time, allowing him to kiss her fully on her breasts when he sits back.

His tongue plays sweetly with her nipple while the hands had already found their way to the waistband of her jeans. She rolls her hips harder, feeling the hardness under his pants right against her core and she gasps when his fingers go through the lacy material of her panties, brushing against her clit softly before penetrating her and causing her to throw her head back for how good and _right_ it feels. She leans onto his chest, to kiss him again while he works her with his fingers. His lips are hot, _finally_ hot, and she had craved that warmth for over a month by now, craved the pounding of his heart that she can hear even through her own skin while her breasts are pressed hard against his chest, supported only by her own hands on his wide shoulders and his free hand, placed on her ass as it follows the movements of her hips against his palm.

“I want you.” She pants with her face hidden on the crook of his neck, already covered in sweat.

 She just feels him nod before they get rid of the rest of their clothes and she goes back to sit on his middle. Hermione’s hands travels his torso, slowly as if she needed to learn every inch of it by heart (she already does). She stops only to take it in, tracing Ron’s naked body with her eyes once more because she will never get over it, everything always seems so usual and yet new at the same time. She still can't believe he’s hers and she’s his.

Then, their bodies join with such simplicity she gasps at that sensation, filled completely by Ron’s cock inside her as his hands go immediately up to cup her breasts, traveling her features as she rides him slowly at first, then faster and harder, setting a perfect rhythm with his own hips.

Hermione glances Ron struggling with keeping his eyes open, as if he couldn't help it but still didn't want to miss a thing of the view above him and she flushes slightly at seeing so much awe and lust for her.

She had never been confident on her aspect. Never felt beautiful or attractive. Never, before Ron.

The warmth spreading from her center all over her body gives her a sudden charge of electricity that makes her understand she’s close. Judging the way Ron’s eyes quickly shut closed and his moan of pleasure, she can tell he's feeling his climax build too.

He lowers one hand, fingertips tenderly lingering on her stomach then down to her belly until he gets to the spot of their joined bodies and starts rubbing frenetically her clit with his thumb and she increases the speed of the thrusts, whining several times, not able to hold it anymore. Her walls clench around him and that’s enough to send him over the edge, muffling a loud “fuck” as he follows her orgasm.

Hermione collapses onto his body, taking heavy hot breaths to regain conscience, her mind slowly becoming less blurry. She feels his arms hold her closer to him, pressing her against his skin chest-to-chest, with the warm sweat between them that makes their body glide.

Hermione turns her back to him eventually, and he automatically hugs her from behind, caressing her arm until she finally falls asleep, folded by his skin.

The last thing she can remember is a lonely tear falling down her cheek at the feeling of Ron’s mouth against her shoulder and the shade of a peaceful smile crossing his lips.

 

 

At night, she feels his body shifting away, slowly to not wake her up, but the only lack of skin against hers is enough to make her eyes flatter open into the dark of the bedroom. Hermione glimpses at the still black sky through the glass of the window, stars hidden by the faint fog of winter and she knows he probably just needs to go to get some fresh air outside or even just a cold glass of water from the kitchen but she fears that only moment alone could make change his mind, that by staying lonely into the darkness all she achieved last night could be erased with a shade of depression crossing back again his heart. She’s afraid he might somehow regret his silent decision. And she can’t let it happen.

So when he’s about to lift his arm from her side, sliding it slowly back as it brushes her waist, Hermione immediately grabs his hand, eyes slightly closed. She hears his gasp from behind her shoulder, clearly not expecting that.

She takes advantage on that second of hesitation and breathes into the night, “You can’t leave this time.”

She hadn’t planned her voice to be so trembling.

After a pause lasted for what it felt hours to her, he curls up back to her back, getting as close as possible. Then he whispers in her ear, “Never.”

 

* * *

 

 “Love, wake up.”

Ron groans and turns away.

She pursues her lips and frowns at his back. When will he ever learn that this is a lost battle with her?

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, you get that glorious ass of yours out of bed if you don’t want me to cast a _Levicorpus_ on you like last time.”

She glimpses a corner of his mouth curving upwards in a grin but he still wouldn’t move.

Hermione quickly reaches for the wand on the nightstand, ignoring if it’s actually hers of Ron’s and presses the top of it on the small of Ron’s bare back. His reaction is instant, as he jumps on the bed and sits up quickly, hands in the air in redemption, “Fine fine i’m awake. Put my wand back.”

Hermione smirks. He can be incredibly dork and adorable sometimes.

His eyes blinks several times in attempt to adjust the sight to the bright light coming out from the little curtains. They linger on Hermione’s exposed cleavage, which causes a sudden grin to appear on his face and pulls her to him at once as he places a small peck on her cheek then another one on her chest, right on the left spot above her bra.

She’s shirtless now, wearing only a pair of soft blue skinny jeans and a new lacy lilac bra that Ron gave her for her last birthday. He seems to appreciate every time she wears it.

She kisses him back softly but she suddenly reminds herself of her plans for that day and she’s pretty sure they would be soon thrown away if she doesn’t stop Ron in time from whatever his mouth had already started to do, despite she knows every inch of her body will regret this.

So she pulls apart and stares at him, her hand moving to comb his messy hair and playing with his ginger locks lazily as she speaks, “I want you to be ready in a hour. We’ll be out for a couple of days…. i’ve already prepared the bags.” She says nonchalantly.

“What? Where are we going?”

“We’re going to the Burrow. I know it’s early and Christmas it’s like three days away but i think it’ll be good for us to have people around you know, especially now…. And i’ve already informed Molly, she seemed so thrilled and excited she said she’ll wait for us for dinner tonight.”

Hermione doesn’t look in his eyes as she says all of this, she doesn’t want to meet his scolding and totally legit look for haven’t told him before. She actually thought a lot about that, assuming that maybe having all his beloved ones all together will cheer him up somehow, and seeing how much everyone loves him and cares about him will make change his mind about his opinion of himself.

“Okay.”

The total unexpected and yet so simple answer coming out from his mouth makes her eyes widen a little and they immediately lower on his for the surprise. She had expected to fight at least half of the day with him to convince him, thing that wasn’t so unusual for them.

“Okay.” Hermione echoes with a soft squeak. Then she clears her throat and gets up. “I finish dressing up while you take the shower and we can leave. I’ll drive.” And she heads to the bathroom where she had left the rest of her clothes.

From the bedroom, she suddenly hears Ron’s voice shouting at her, “Did you really call my ass ‘glorious’?”

She flushes heavily, “I don’t remember!” She shouts back.

Even from the bathroom, Hermione can almost feel Ron’s mouth turning into a wide smirk as he opens his closet.

* * *

 

The Burrow at Christmas is definitely one of her top five favorite places to be.

Christmas time has always been more than just a festivity to the Weasley family and she couldn’t blame them. Being such a huge family and all with such different interests, implicates the separation at certain point of life, which means they barely used to see each other now that even the youngest of them is adult and everyone had moved on.

She is just anything but glad to assist to their reunion and, mostly, to be part of that. The special thing about them is that they could make you feel so welcomed and comfortable even by being a total stranger. It was just natural for the Weasleys, being good and heartwarming.

So she can’t help a loud huff when the moment she steps in the messy house, Mrs Weasley jumps at her with so much impetus Hermione’s forced to back at first. The woman is hugging her so tightly she thinks her lungs would soon replace air with joy and she automatically slings her arms around the woman’s neck, leaning a little to her chubby body and losing herself for a while in that tender embrace.

When they separate, Molly’s eyes are literally beaming at her as she speaks, “I thought you would come later for dinner!”

“I convinced Ron to wake up early this morning,” she laughs, “Besides we supposed it would’ve be better to come here before dinner so we could have the time to unpack and get ready. And later i can help you cook maybe.”

“Oh darling!” Molly unfolds her again, unable to restrain herself for the happiness. “Of course you’re gonna cook with me.”

“Ronald c’mon help your girlfriend with these bags and take them upstairs. We’ll wait for you in the kitchen while i prepare you some tea. Oh i guess you have so much to tell me.” She is literally jumping for the excitement. Willing to keep her so, Hermione assumes it would be definitely better not to tell her anything. Not about the events of the past month at least.

Ron’s expression though is _hilarious_. All the times they came over to the Burrow together Ron’s parents used to treat her like an actual daughter and barely paid attention at their own son for the following twelve hours. It was something that happened every time one of their ‘daughters in law’ (Harry was so much integrated in the family he was used to be treated just as much regard as Ron) showed up in their house and they would start cheering up and rambling about anything, laughing senselessly but with so much sincere joy they made it contagious.

Hermione always supposed it was because of the lack of females in the house. Ginny is out of home too now, and even when she used to live there with her brothers, she is definitely not the kind of girl you can call “feminine”. Hot, for sure. But that was just a gift of Mother Nature. Being the youngest sister of six brothers doesn’t really help develop your inner woman, and Ginny though made surely an amazing work on her own.

When Ron disappears upstairs Molly has already taken a pitcher of tea and put in on the table, muttering a quick spell to make it boil.

“So,” she starts radiant as always, “how have you guys been? I find you paler, are you sure you’re eating properly? Is Ron acting like a smartass all the time and getting on your nerves? I swear if he’s like when-”

“He’s perfect.” She interjects her smiling, “He really is.”

Molly’s expression relax at once and for the first time Hermione notices a couple of wrinkles had formed on her forehead. Still, she’s one of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen.

Her same endearing look is reflected in the woman’s eyes too as she speaks again, “you know i love you as you were my own child, don’t you?”

Hermione’s eyes suddenly turn wet for she clearly didn’t expect such a declaration, not that she doesn’t know it anyway. She exchanges a teary look with her as she replies softly, “I love you too, mom.”

They on their way to hug again when Ron burst into the room, “So where’s the tea?”

“Oh, Merlin’s beard!” she rushes across the kitchen to reach for the now super hot tea and breaks the boiling spell. Then she sighs, disappointed with the outcome of the drink, “I think It warmed too much.”

Hermione laughs softly, “I guess we’ll skip directly to the dinner then.”She says as she gets closer to Molly to rub her shoulder in reassurance.

Mrs. Weasley nods and sighs again, clearly sorry. “Harry and Ginny told me they’ll come tomorrow night since Ginny has received a last-minute article to cover a collaborator who’s in buisness trip. Arthur should get back home in a hour or less though, he sent me a patronus right before your arrival. We can wait for him and eat all together if it’s okay for you guys, it’ll be just the four of us for tonight.” She states uncertain.

“It’s okay for me.” Ron shrugs.

Hermione is simply beaming, “It’s perfect.”

 

 

They start eating when Mr Weasley gets back, receiving her with just as much enthusiasm as his wife did.

The two women had prepared the special beef meatloaf of Mrs. Weasley combined with a mixture of all the vegetables she knew Ron liked the most and, judging for how mad Mr. Weasley gets when Ron steals the last spoonful left on the tray, she can tell that’s definitely a genetic trait.

They eat and talk and laugh a lot. Ron actually laughs, and it’s until he does so that Hermione realizes how much she missed the sound of it. She feels tears in her eyes at the sight of his happiness and she can’t help let out a sigh of relief, an invisible lead burden dissolves in her chest as he covers her hand with his on the table. Mrs. Weasley seems to notice that brief moment of apparently unmotivated bliss but, either she thinks to have imagined everything or she decides to talk about it at another time, she doesn’t say a word.

 

After the dinner is over and the hungry ones had been satiated, Hermione offers to help Molly with the dishes only to be gently rejected and pushed towards the stairs with Ron. Before starting climbing the stairs, she glimpses a blink of eye from the old woman and she wonders if it was really directed at her or if she just made it up for the tiredness.

 

Ron guides her in his old bedroom, tugging her gently while holding her hand as they climb the endless stairs of the deformed house.

 

She rushes inside and immediately heads to the window on the opposite wall. Hermione’s always loved the view from Ron’s room. You would be able to see kilometers away for how high it’s placed and at night, when all the lights were off, she felt like she could touch the stars if she only stuck out the railing of the terrace a little more. She remembers when they lost their virginity in that room, almost two years ago by now, under the shining light of a nearly full moon.

“My parents love you.” Ron’s voice suddenly brings her back from her memories.

She smiles, eyes still stuck on the night sky, “I love them too.”

 

He says nothing for a while and a peaceful silence comes to reign between them. For a hour, a minute, a second, she isn’t sure.

Behind her she hears him clearing his throat nervously, “You- you saved my life, Hermione.”

She still doesn’t turn, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold his look. So she stares at the floor instead when she replies with a shaky laugh, “it was about time to return the favor.”

 Nothing again. She catches a sharp squeak of the bed and a few steps coming closer to her.

 

“I love you, Hermione Jean Granger.”

His voice comes from right a few inches behind her. And he never calls her by full name, that’s a habit reserved to her only.

That, added to the gravity of his tone forces her to eventually turn around.

Her surprise when she doesn’t see him at eye level like she expected makes her gasp, her heart pounding so much in her chest she’s pretty sure Ron’s parents can hear it too from downstairs.

He’s on his knee, of course. Both of his hands holding a thin and shimmering ring, completely covered in tiny diamonds. Then, her eyes move back to his face, to the gentle line of his mouth, corners curved upwards and his cheeks colored with a light shade of red that matches with his flushed lips. Finally their eyes meet, hers wide open and filled with tears of joy, his holding love and honesty just for her. His look is so tender it seems to caress her by the only act of staring at her. And she almost cries when she notices the color of his eyes, the light blue iris she always gets lost in.

She finally had her cloudless sky back.

 

Her mind had already formulated the answer and she’s about to shout it all over the place when Ron, maybe catching her intention or willing to have that one satisfaction, precedes her.

 

“Will you marry me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedbacks are always very welcome! Don't be shy - i don't bite! 
> 
>    
> [lydias-martin ](http://lydias-martin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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